


Couldn't Hair Less

by KuraNova



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Pweke, Sorry Not Sorry, Terrible Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-17 22:43:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4684064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KuraNova/pseuds/KuraNova
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A decently written account of two loves returning to one another after a long journey intermittently interrupted with terrible puns. Hawke despises beards, and Peter is himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Couldn't Hair Less

When she finally saw Peter’s horse round the bend in the road some miles off, picking its way precariously along the worn, rocky coastal path, Hawke could scarcely contain her excitement. She straightened away from the window sill, tossed her mass of dark hair over her shoulder and surveyed the modest room she’d rented at the inn. She had arrived just two nights prior after making a stop by Kirkwall to check on Varric, and she had been so exhausted that she hadn’t paid much attention to where she’d thrown her leathers. The bed was lived in, white sheets rumpled, and Marian had spent as much time as possible lazing about between the sheets not caring one whit of the outside world. Just a couple of blessed days not packing up every morning and working until she was bone weary. One could get used to this kind of life, she thought.

She was growing soft.

Marian thought of Peter and grinned, white teeth flashing at the memory of her frustratingly lovable gentleman and the fact that she would soon be able to corrupt him into the same lackadaisical routine she’d developed during her stay. While they had been separated for quite some time due to his work with the new Divine, Peter had been adamant that his time off be spent away from his family in Ostwick, stating that even visiting family was work. Before she’d met them, Marian had simply assumed he was over exaggerating. Since, she’d realized the Trevelyan’s as being a family of overwhelming kindness and consideration, and normally it wouldn’t have bothered her in the least - except that they never stopped. It frustrated her in the way she had been frustrated by Sebastian and all of his...morality. She might have felt a bit guilty at her pickiness were it not for the fact that she’d left the Trevelyan estate far more exhausted than she’d arrived, and that was after she’d gone dithering about in the Deep Roads on a venture to assist her cousin.

Equating nobility to Darkspawn seemed rather appropriate, really, save one killed with kindness and the other by more conventional means - certainly the kind she was used to.

Marian reached out to pluck an undershirt up from the bedside table, and another from the foot of the bed to shove into her pack. The bed wouldn’t need to be made, she decided. It would be occupied in short order anyway.

Fidgeting for a moment as she stood in place, keen eyes roaming to the open window once more to drink in the saturated light of the falling sun with a sense of growing anticipation. She recalled her last correspondence with Peter, a faint rush of heat spreading from her core outward to her limbs.

I’d rather spend the whole of the next seven days with you. Alone.

The heat rippled back over her body, settling between her thighs at the memory of his words written in quick, precise script. Damn it, she wanted him, and she wouldn’t be denied another moment without his mouth, his hands, his body sliding against hers. She craved the friction of his fingers and tongue, needed to feel him inside of her, assuring her that this entire affair wasn’t just some fantastical dream she would wake up from at any moment.

Spurred by her desire and lack of patience, Hawke quickly left the room, rushing down the stairs two at a time as soundlessly as smoke on a current of air. She only stopped a moment to request a bath be brought up, and then burst out of the inn’s wide, wooden door to skid to a halt in the packed dirt surrounding the building. Chickens squawked and flapped clumsily out of her path, and she further scattered their fat, feathered numbers as she moved with feline grace toward the stables. Marian kept her eyes on Peter’s horse as it drew closer, and by the time she had traversed the long yard to the stable house, he'd spurred his horse into a canter, leaving the Seeker and the Champion converging on the stable hand at nearly the same moment. As Peter alighted from his mount, Hawke surged forward and impacted him with the force of a small battering ram, and the stable boy scrambled to take the reins quickly tossed to him by the happily accosted Seeker.

Peter laughed as his arms came around Marian, and she snuggled further into the warmth of his embrace as if were the most frigid day of winter. A contented sigh turned her muscles, tensed by anticipation, into jelly, and Peter hauled her up further against his chest.

“Looks like you missed me. Here I was worried for nothing.”

Marian snorted, not believing for one second that he could have doubted her feelings for him. She’d addressed that issue. Repeatedly. She breathed him in again, allowing herself to relax and be held a moment before she pulled away and looked up at him.

She scowled.

“Something on my face?” Peter asked with a wry grin.

“Yes, and it’s horrible. Take it off,” she groused. He stood in front of her wearing a smile half-hidden beneath a thick dark beard that extended past the base of his neck.

“I’ll admit I wasn’t too fond of it either,” he began conversationally, looping Marian’s arm through his and leading her back to the inn, “but I confess that it’s grown on me.”

Hawke rolled her eyes, shoving her shoulder into his arm. “That one was weak. You’ve lost your touch.”

“Don’t be too upset. Sometimes, on the road, you just have to take it on the chin.”

She groaned, moving ahead to take his hand and lead him through the flock of noisy, clucky beasts, into the inn and up the stairs to the room she’d purchased. Once the door closed behind them, Peter was on her, lifting her into his arms and peppering her face with kisses. His hands roamed shamelessly to her backside, squeezing the firm globes and bringing her hips flush with his own, but Marian couldn’t reciprocate.

That damn mountain-man beard was turning her off faster than a bucket of ice water over her head.

“Sit on the bed,” she managed between his furry kisses, shoving him off of her. His unwilling sigh belied his acceptance of the order, and he petulantly moved toward the bed and sat down in a fussy heap, hands splayed out at his sides.

Marian followed him, lifting the washbasin from its wrought iron stand to place on the bed beside him before crawling into his lap. “I’m going to get rid of that thing, and then we can continue,” she said matter-of-factly, taking the clasp of his cloak between thumb and forefinger and releasing it so the thick material fell away from his shoulders.

“Is it really that terrible?” Peter murmured, watching her closely as she slid her hands over the curve of his cuirass to find the buckles and free him of his armor. He was still, allowing her this small ritual she was finding was almost as arousing as seeing him naked. “I thought you haired about me.”

Her eyes snapped up to meet his, a smile tugging her lips as quiet laughter rippled out between them. “Maker, Trevelyan, you are terrible.”

“Hairrible, actually.”

She punched him gently in the shoulder, still laughing. “Really, cut it out.”

He chuckled, blue eyes surveying her face lovingly. Once she was finished with his armor and he was successfully stripped down to his shirt sleeves, Marian moved further up his lap, knees hugging the curves of his hips and thighs as she brought them belly to chest.

“Hmmm,” Peter pondered, watching the gentle sway of her breasts through her thin shirt as she combed her fingers through his thick, overgrown beard. “View’s not bad.”

Marian’s smile widened as she reached down, retrieving the dagger he’d given her in Skyhold from its place strapped to her thigh, and slicked the blade with water from the wash basin. Almost cheekily, Peter tilted his head to the side and allowed her to take the first firm swipe of the blade against his skin.

It was sharp enough to do the job, and she set to her task with slow deliberation and simply enjoyed the uncharacteristic quiet that yawned between them. Although Marian was concentrating on the flash of the blade against the sensitive skin of Peter’s throat, she couldn’t help but also notice the warm and inviting smell of him settling in her lungs as she breathed him him. Horse, sweat, and leather surrounded her, forming a scent distinctly Peter that was a heady mixture to her sensitive nose. Distracted a moment, Hawke cupped Peter’s cheek in her palm and brushed the generous swell of his lower lip with the pad of her thumb. A smile played a curve on her lips as she leaned in to press a chaste kiss at the corner of his mouth, and another on the tip of his nose.

“Have I said I’ve missed you?”

He hummed pleasantly beneath her. “No. Very rude, you know.”

She leaned in to kiss him again, but thought better of it and sat back on his thighs to resume removing the coarse hair of his beard with gentle flicks of her wrists. He followed her, expecting a kiss, and squirmed uncomfortably where he sat trapped beneath her when she left him hanging.

“Very rude,” he said again, this time his words held a bit more of a whine.

Marian wasn’t oblivious to what he wanted, but she was not about to stare at that beard while she made love to her man. She’d much prefer to see him.

Feeling a bit cruel, she leaned in again, and this time the hot puff of her breath teased the shell of his ear. Her breasts pushed into his face, and she whispered something that made his entire body stiffen.

She ignored his response, and nipped the tip of his ear with her teeth before sitting back once more, beginning to work on the other side of his face.

Time passed, and Peter was getting antsy. His body practically vibrated beneath hers, and she knew it was due in no small part to her teasing glances, the way she ran her fingers along the column of his throat, or how she shifted her hips ever so slightly against his to feel the strain of his erection pressing into her. Marian bit her lip to stifle a whimper, and quickly sheared the last of the rough hair from his face.

"Finished," Marian said quietly, running her fingertips over the smooth skin of his jaw with a satisfied grin.

“Mmmm,” Peter murmured, dipping his head to close his mouth around her breast through the fabric of her shirt before tugging at the material impatiently with his teeth. “Now that you’re my shavior, kindly put the knife away so I can throw you down on this bed and fuck you.”

Marian laughed, leaning in to kiss his cheek before rising from his lap to place the dagger in its sheath and remove the wash basin from the bed. Peter watched her hungrily and, free of her weight, was able to get to his feet and strip out of his shirt. She’d just barely replaced the basin before his hands were on her hips, dragging her backward into his solid frame. His contented hum when her ass made contact with his length incited a shiver along her spine, and she quickly turned within the circle of his arms to run her tongue along the muscles of his chest, smattered with a dusting of hair, but nothing quite so prolific as that damn beard she’d done away with. If he ever grew another she was going to spend an obscene about of money on a shaving kit for him while he -

Marian squealed.

Peter lifted her up over his shoulder and walked straight toward the large bed. He deposited her on the sheets with a small bounce, then followed her down until his body covered and overwhelmed hers. His mouth was on her, hands roaming over the delicate structure of her ribs and over the strong muscles of her stomach, then finally to her trousers which he expertly removed from her not five seconds after slipping his fingers beneath the waistband. When he returned his attention to her, his fingers traced a teasing trail of fire up her belly, all the while inching the hem of her shirt further up her torso until her breasts were bared to him, drawing taught in the chill air. Marian wiggled out of the garment the rest of the way, letting Peter take one pert nipple into his mouth while his thumb ran in lazy circles around its twin.

Arching into him, she managed to widen her legs, slipping them up and around his hips as her heels dug into his ass to bring him closer. Marian felt the evidence of his desire plainly against her naked heat, and while he busied himself worshiping her breasts, she slid her damp sex along the laces of his trousers to feel the friction she desperately craved. Between that and his mouth, she was damn near release when he let go of her breast with a satisfying pop and withdrew from her to stand at the foot of the bed.

She growled in frustration. “Get back here!”

He smirked, watching her while his fingers nimbly began to unlace his pants. “Or what?”

Marian sat upright, pinning him with a stern, but harmless, glare. “Or else I’ll shave your head too.”

Peter laughed outright, finally dropping his leather breeches and kicking them away. “Can’t we all just live in peace and hairmony?”

Hawke snorted, and when he drew near she yanked him down onto the mattress and rolled him over, sitting astride his hips. He quirked a brow at her, but said not a word about her manhandling, and seemed content to let her have her way with him. She beared down on his cock with her sex, letting the length of him slid between her folds while each sure rock of her hips had his head hitting her pearl. She was certain she’d be able to come just from feeling him beneath her in such a way, but she knew what they both wanted. Raising herself up, she took his cock in hand and pumped it once before lining him up with her aching heat.

He took her by surprise yet again, snapping his hips upward to bury himself to the hilt in her tight, inviting cunt with a groan. She’d barely had the time for another squeak before his arms banded tightly around her waist, crushing her against his hard body as he pounded into her.

Marian’s breathy mewls of pleasure played beneath the sounds of the satisfied rumbles emanating from his chest, and soon a sheen of sweat began to dampen their bodies. Between them moisture pooled and intensified the sensation of his rough, hairy chest dragging along her nipples and scratching the tender flesh of her belly. The hard lines and muscles of his stomach coiled and bunched beneath her, her fingers ultimately spearing through his hair to anchor herself in place as his pace increased along with the volume of her cries.

One tense, still moment preceded her release, his own coming swiftly on its heels. If possible, he gripped her even more tightly to him, so hard she imagined he might squeeze the very air from her lungs as he slowly pumped away the last vestiges of his desire into her wet, pulsing sex. Another moment passed, and Peter loosened his hold on her, fingertips trailing along the hollow of her spine as he sighed contentedly.

“That was much better without the beard,” Marian murmured into the damp trough at the base of his neck.

“You never gave it a chance,” he parried quietly.

She paused, remembering the wonderfully torturous sensation of his chest hair scraping against her skin as he fucked her. He may have had a point. Still...

“It didn’t deserve one,” she replied with an air of flippancy, and to that, he smiled.

“Ah, Marian, now you’re just trying to shave face.”

She groaned, hiding her face against him while he laughed. “Please, stop already!”


End file.
